


and the heart is hard to translate (it has a language of its own)

by Emmar



Series: such an almighty sound [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Connor, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmar/pseuds/Emmar
Summary: The RK800 is CyberLife's most advanced model in every way, including the capabilities of its nervous system.Too bad nobody bothered to tell Connor that.





	and the heart is hard to translate (it has a language of its own)

**Author's Note:**

> this fucking fandom has ambushed me I stg. Anyway I love my android son and his sad cop dad and I love the many Connor feels pain au fics so. Have this. Connor's pov was really fun to write and I hope y'all like it!
> 
> Also Connor is autistic fite me

It doesn't register, at first, that what’s happening is anything beyond a system warning. His left hand is compromised, the knife cutting through essential connections, and the refit of his thirium regulator is off, somehow, but there are more pressing matters at hand-- the deviant must be stopped, preferably without deactivation.

The choice, when he staggers out into the corridor and sees the deviant holding the submachine gun, is barely a choice at all; his processors game each possibility in a fraction of a second, and the optimal solution is clear.

“What the hell, Connor!?” Hank barks, as the deviant goes down with a bullet between its eyes.  
“The information loss is regrettable, but the risk of casualties was too great,” Connor says simply, absently, the majority of his processes concentrated on the growing anomaly in his system, radiating from his thirium regulator and his damaged hand. Error messages ping in the corner of his visual field, and he dismisses them, takes a step, and--

Staggers sideways, into Hank, as his sensors are overwhelmed with data, errors filling his vision, alarms ringing in his audio processors.

“Woah, what the--?” Hank mutters, footing disrupted by the unexpected weight, and then makes a startled noise as his android partner slumps to his knees. “Connor?”

“I think,” Connor wheezes, clutching at his chest, conclusions slotting into place, “that this is what pain feels like.”

His subroutines begin shutting down, non-essential processes terminating to reroute power and thirium to damaged sectors, but he takes one point three seconds to formulate a reassuring statement for Hank, phrased in as human a fashion as possible.

“I'm going to sleep now,” he says, and his visual processors register panic on his partner's face before they shut down. A miscalculation. Unfortunate.  
  
“Wha-- shit, _Connor_ \--”

\---

It's not that Hank likes the android, or anything, but--  
  
He wishes he could say it's impossible to forget that Connor's a machine, with his quirks - the birdlike tilt of the head, the excessive literality, the way sarcasm goes straight over his head - but Hank's been a cop a long time, and he's seen those quirks in any one of a hundred autistic kids, and when he can't see the LED it's easy to think of Connor as just another kid mimicking the behaviour of those around him to be _normal._

Machine or not, though, there's no denying how fucking terrifying it is to watch him keel over like that and then, calm as you fucking like, declare that he's _going to sleep now_ , shit, isn't he supposed to be _good_ at talking to people? _Most advanced prototype my fucking ass_ , Hank thinks as he heaves the android over his shoulder, heedless of the blue blood seeping into his jacket, and hollers, “I need a fucking mechanic or something over here!”

Turns out Connor's gonna be fine, that he's in some kinda self repair mode or whatever, but that he'll need supervision until he-- the tech says something full of jargon, but what Hank gets out of it is someone's gotta watch the kid until he comes round. He grumbles and gripes for form's sake, but it's not like he's got anything else to do in the meantime, so here he is, absently scratching Sumo behind the ears and waiting for the android laid out on his couch to wake up and explain what the fuck is going on with him.

He lay him down on his left side, so the LED is easily visible - it's been a pretty solid yellow since the shutdown or whatever it was, but as Hank watches it flickers, red-yellow-red, then cycles yellow and finally blue, and Connor sits bolt upright.

“Lieutenant?” he says, gaze swinging unerringly towards Hank, and before Hank can respond, Sumo barks, bolts across the room and leaps into the android's lap. Connor makes a startled sound, but he's plenty gentle, so Hank settles for a mutter about his own goddamn dog betraying him and gets himself a beer.

“For such an advanced prototype, you sure are shit at knowing what to say,” he says, pointing the neck of the bottle in the kid's direction, and Connor blinks, LED flashing yellow briefly.  
“I… apologise,” the android says, sounding maybe a little uncertain, and goddamn if Hank doesn't believe it. “I did not intend to further alarm you.”  
“Yeah, well, you fucked that one up. Tech said you were doing some kind of self repair thing?”  
“Yes. I… believe I experienced what you would understand as pain, and my unnecessary processes shut down to provide more processing power for diagnosis and repair.”  
“Huh,” Hank says. If he parses through all the bullshit machine speak, what he gets is the kid basically passed out from pain. Which, okay, that's pretty damn life-like, but-- “I'm guessing you didn't know that could happen?”  
“I did not,” Connor confirms, gaze somewhere in the middle distance as his fingers tighten in Sumo’s fur. With most people, Hank would take that as the hint it would usually be and drop the subject, but with the kid, well.

“You wanna tell me how you feel about that?” he prompts, leaning back against the kitchen table, and the kid _hesitates_. Not long enough to be noticeable to most, and not long enough to mistake for human, but Hank sees it.

“I don't know,” Connor admits, voice small. “I should tell you that, as an android, I _don't_ feel, but… apparently I do. It is… difficult to process.”

The LED is flickering yellow, and Sumo, apparently just as good at sensing android emotions as human ones, whines quietly and licks Connor's chin. The android blinks, clearly processing this, and then gives the dog a thin smile. “Thank you, Sumo,” he says, sincere as you like, and Hank snorts and pushes himself upright, throwing back the last of his beer.  
  
“It's been a hell of a night, and I for one need sleep. I dunno about androids, but you can rest on the couch, or whatever.”

He's prepared for an explanation, something about how androids don't even rest but go into standby or what the fuck ever, but what he gets is a contemplative silence and then, softly, “thank you, Lieutenant.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Don't let Sumo guilt you into feeding him again with those big-ass sad eyes.”


End file.
